by Joey W. Hill
She also hadn't worn a bra under the pale yellow blouse she'd worn to work today. She had the top two buttons undone, which would give him a glimpse of the curve of her breast almost to the nipple if she sat in profile to him, which she fully intended to do.
Meeting his blank gaze, she took advantage of that brief moment of shock. "Sarah had to take her little mutant to his Mediocrity Ceremony, Mr. Tywin," she said smoothly. "But she said I would be able to meet your needs. I'll just be over here, typing up your brief. Let me know if there's anything else I can do for you."
"Sam . . ." It was gratifying to see how much trouble he was having pulling his gaze up to her face, but he wasn't the only one who knew how to taunt and tease a person to distraction. She didn't linger in front of him, at least no longer than necessary for him to realize she had nothing on beneath the yellow blouse. From standing in front of her mirror, she knew the smudges of her nipples were unmistakable beneath the nearly transparent silk.
She took her seat in the chair, her back straight, the skirt barely covering her ass when she sat down. Modestly, she crossed her ankles and tucked her legs at an angle beneath the chair. If he'd been directly in front of her, the small open triangle where the fabric stretched over her thighs would give him a shadowed view of her bare pubic mound. She expected he was already wondering what was under the skirt. She'd see how long it would take before curiosity inspired action.
She respected Geoff's work, but he'd been working pretty much nonstop since Sunday. She and Chris both knew sometimes he needed forced breaks to give him balance. Normally, that was when she and Chris would gang up on him, drag him off for a bike ride or to see a concert in the park. Maybe go out to dinner at a new place.
She wasn't under any illusions she was being motivated by such selfless concerns right now, but if it served both purposes, all the better.
She fitted the buds into her ears. She'd put up her hair with two sticks, letting some of it fall and tease her nape, the sides of her face. She wondered if he'd pull it all the way down. She wanted him to do that.
She had to be impairing his focus, but that was a two-way street. In order to type up his brief correctly, she had to get past the way the sexy clothes and his hot gaze were making her feel. It helped to realize that true absorption in the task, acting oblivious to his regard or her provocative appearance, was a good way to drive him to even further distraction. She pressed play on the recorder.
She loved listening to his voice. Geoff tended to dictate as if he were presenting information to the judge or a jury, his tone alternating between humor, patience, instruction, and--her favorite--stern reproof.
On tape or in person, it was obvious he had such passion for learning and understanding how the law worked. He wasn't the least bit idealistic about the legal system, but he believed in the law and its purity even when it was twisted to ill purpose, as it so often was. For a man who seemed like a no-nonsense cynic, he was actually quite a romantic.
She and Chris had attended a couple of his trials. She'd learned the lawyer was usually required to stand in one specific spot, not allowed to wander around for dramatic effect as they did on TV shows. Even with that restriction, Geoff was mesmerizing to her, an orator who could have stood in the center of the Roman Senate and swayed minds to his way of thinking.
She finished the brief, read it through twice for any corrections and sent it to his computer to be reviewed by him before he printed or submitted it. Throughout, she'd been aware of the slow turn of pages at the kitchen table, mixed with the heat of his regard. He was watching her and, though it had taken an effort more strenuous than running uphill with a backpack of rocks, she'd made sure she hadn't looked at him once, focusing only on getting the job done.
Now, as she rewarded herself by finally glancing his way, she realized he was done. He had his laptop lid pushed halfway closed and was sitting back in his chair watching her, fingers templed, elbows braced on the arms of his chair. He had his legs in a casual sprawl. He'd shed his coat when he got home but was still in what she not-so-teasingly called his "power wear": slacks, shined shoes and dress shirt. He'd loosened his tie and rolled up the sleeves of the shirt and, because of his agitation with the admin, his hair was spiked over his forehead. His eyes were filled with such intensity that when she met them, it felt like she was standing close to a fire burning dangerously hot. Pressing her lips together to cover an erratic breath, she rose and stood before him, cocking a hip and giving him a light smile.
"Brief should be in your inbox, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you? I've been trained in several ways to relieve stress." Not letting herself chicken out, she let her gaze slide boldly down his body to linger between his sprawled legs. The slacks couldn't disguise how much he approved of her outfit. She wet her lips at the sight, as aroused by how he made no move to conceal it as the evidence of the erection itself. "You look stressed. Sir."
His gaze didn't leave her face. Would he play along? She thought the whole world spun once on its axis before he finally spoke, a slow drawl that made her heart leap. "Are you wearing anything under that skirt, Miss Gerard?"
She shivered at the address. "No sir."
"Turn around, bend over and show me. You look like someone who does yoga. I'm betting you could grab your ankles and fold yourself in half."
She pivoted, heat sliding down her neck, over her back and hips as she complied, slowly bending forward and then clasping her ankles. As the skirt adjusted, it inched up over her buttocks, telling her he was getting a view of those and the folds of her pussy, framed by the curves of her thighs. As the seconds ticked away with her face pressed to her shins, her legs began to tremble.
"Stand up, turn around and face me again."
She did. He was leaning forward with his hands clasped loosely between his spread knees. He cocked his head, eying her from head to toe. "Miss Gerard, you dress inappropriately for an office environment. Someone probably needs to take you in hand and teach you better behavior."
"Well, Mr. Cade has offered. And you know, he's so authoritative and in charge. I'm sure he'd be a good mentor."
She squealed as he lunged for her, caught her wrist and tugged her forward until she had to straddle his knees. Putting his hands on her hips to hold her there, he flashed a dangerous grin at her, but his hot gaze returned to her breasts, the tips pressing up high against the fabric. He slipped another button, then another, spreading the blouse open.
"I want a massage, Miss Gerard."
When she started to move back to circle around him, he shook his head. "You'll do it on my lap. Take off the skirt so you can spread your legs. Leave the shoes on."
He let her step back to shimmy out of the skirt. "And the blouse," he added. "I want you in nothing but those fuck-me shoes."
God, what did it say about her that she loved the rough sound of his voice when he spoke like that? She was quivering all over as she let the silk float to the floor. When she was done, she stood before him in nothing but a pair of high heels, her tiny diamond stud earrings and her navel piercing. His attention slid over her once again, slow, taking his time. She didn't think she could ever get tired of him looking at her like this, absorbing her into his gold-and-green gaze.
"Geoff." She had to say his name, couldn't play anymore. His eyes lifted to her, broody, unfathomable.
"Do you know what you're doing, Sam?"
She nodded, shook her head. His mouth quirked at the dual response. "Good to know we're in the same boat. Take off the shoes and come here." He extended his hand. She took it, grateful for the firm pressure of his fingers, and he slid her back into a straddle of his lap, guiding her legs so she could brace her heels on the slats of his chair for support. He enclosed her hips in his arms, holding her there. When he leaned forward, she expected him to go right for her quivering breasts, but instead, his mouth found the pocket of her throat. She dropped her head back, eyes closing, fingers clamped on his forearms.
"Miss Gerard," he murmur
ed. "Take down your hair."
She did, shaking it loose so the brown straight strands fell down her back and into his waiting hands. "Very good. Now give me that massage."
With pleasure. She ran her hands over his shoulders, indulging herself with their feel and shape. "May I unbutton your shirt, sir? To be more thorough."
"Not this time. Work with what you're given."
Well, she'd had to try. Touching him, even through the cloth of his shirt, was still a sensual gift. As she did that, he moved one hand from her hip and toyed with the navel piercing, sending a lovely swirl of feeling radiating from that point. His knuckles were brushing her mound, reminding her that her legs were spread, her bare cunt just above the seam of his thighs. "Chris gave you the little bear, didn't he?"
"Yes sir."
His attention went to her face at the address. She kept her focus on his shoulders. He had such good muscle tone there, but he was tense. All those hours at a desk, reading, reviewing.
"You should go to yoga with me," she said.
"Men don't do yoga."
"They certainly do. We have several men in our class, and yes, heterosexual men. One of them is really hot. Like you. You could wear bike shorts like he does so I can see everything ripple and flex."
"Really?" His brow lifted. "Does he notice everything ripple and flex on you?"
"I wouldn't know. I don't pay attention to that," she said primly, but with a hint of a smile. "Come to the class to find out. Seriously, you should consider it. You need to figure out ways to relax. You're too tense."
She was sitting in his lap naked, babbling at him, because being there, in this situation at long last, was just too much to take in. But he'd decided he wanted to build them up again, because he wrapped one hand in her hair, focusing her attention.
"Be quiet, Miss Gerard. I'll let you know if I want to hear you talk."
"Yes sir. My mouth is willing to be occupied by anything you wish."
She could feel her cheeks heat as she said it. She kept her attention on the movement of her hands as if her life depended on it. He touched her face, though, gripping her jaw to make her meet his gaze. She expected she was turning deep rose.
"What do you mean by that, Miss Gerard?"
"I think it was pretty clear. Sir." She wet her lips, and the next word came out as a soft rasp. "Please."
"Christ," he muttered. "Chris would kick my ass."
Her brow creased, and she searched his hazel gaze. "Why?"
"It's . . . We shouldn't be doing this." His grip on her hair eased, both hands going back to her waist. She could feel him withdrawing, and she was still sitting on his lap. Naked. Freaking naked.
A shiver of cold went across her skin. "Really? Why is that?"
Geoff gave her a torn look. Whatever was going through his head was tying up his tongue, but she wasn't in the mood to wait for an answer. She slid her hands down the front of his shirt and backed off his lap, sinking down between his knees before he could move away from her. When she hooked her fingers in his belt, the heel of her hand rubbing against the head of his erection, he grabbed her wrists, his expression hardening.
That reaction was what Flo had warned her about. Doms didn't like to be pushed, the sub trying to call the shots. But she'd prefer his anger about that over whatever the hell he'd been about to do or say. Unfortunately, he refused to close that door.
"I'm not going to use you like that," he said. "You deserve better."
"I deserve better," she said slowly. "You want me on a pedestal, Geoff? Is that what you were thinking when you were spanking me, when you had me begging? I know what you want. You want to order me to go down on you. You want your cock in my mouth. You want me on my knees. That's where I want to be. On my knees to you."
She was fucking this up, because things were twisting into a hard knot inside of her. She was freaking telling him what he wanted. She'd made herself too vulnerable and he wasn't responding as she'd hoped. When he said nothing, obviously still struggling with the right words, the right response, she snapped.
"Forget it," she said, sliding back to her feet and picking up her clothes. She would have been better off striding bare-assed back to her room, because the moment she pressed the fabric against her, the shame of being so exposed gripped her. The ache in her throat was what tore it, though. She was not going to cry. If she did, he'd be sure it was all a mistake. At the moment, he might be right, but she knew that was just her fear of rejection talking. If he could just unbend one fucking moment, let go of control, of the idea that he had to keep everything in their world ordered the way he thought it was supposed to go, rather than how they all wanted . . .
"Things have to get messy sometimes," she snapped. "Not being in control of everything isn't the end of the world. Sometimes it can be just the beginning. If it gets fucked up some along the way, it's not the end of the world, either. It doesn't have to be."
Though unfortunately, this kind of hurt made it feel that way.
"Sam . . ."
"No," she said, dashing by him. She hurried down the hall, her movements so uncontrolled that she closed her door harder than she'd intended. She locked it, probably the first time she'd ever done that, and leaned against the panel, holding the clothes against the ache under her breastbone. She couldn't stick her neck out more than that, could she? Had she gone down the wrong path, been too blatant, too contrived? Up until she'd brought up giving him oral, he'd seemed to be getting into it. She shivered again as she replayed it in her head. Miss Gerard . . . God, if she worked for him in truth, hearing him address her so formally would get her aroused every time.
But this was about more than getting off. If that was all she was risking, she'd have stuck with her vibrator and her fantasies.
Oh hell. Maybe he'd been right all along. Maybe she'd been too impatient and they should have waited for Chris. He had a way of balancing things among the three of them, making their curves and edges complement one another. She couldn't deny that Geoff's forte was his intelligence, knowing the best approach or timing for things. Which meant she'd pushed all this, fucked it up. Maybe not irretrievably, but if she'd set them back, if Geoff would now take months before he was willing to even talk about this again, let alone act on it, she might just lose her mind.
What was her forte? What did she bring to all of this? Other than being the one with an aching need to submit to them. And the one with girly parts. A painful half smile crossed her face. She didn't have Geoff's brains or Chris's penchant for creating harmony. She'd thought of harmony as a fluffy greeting-card kind of word until she'd met him, but he was the true, deep spiritual meaning of it. There was nothing so amazing, so perfect, as a touch of harmony.
The door vibrated against her back at Geoff's light knock. "Sam, are you okay?"
She cleared her throat. "Yeah, I'm fine. Listen . . . you were right. We should have waited for Chris. It's okay. Don't worry about it, all right? I'm good. I'm sorry I . . . I'm sorry I rushed things. Let's just . . . We can talk about it later this week when he gets back, just like you said."
A long pause. She didn't hear his feet move away. She laid her cheek on the door. She needed to get dressed, but her heart felt too heavy to move. It would pass. It would be okay. They weren't children, to believe that a moment's stumble was a complete loss. She was supposed to have the maturity to step back, know that they'd have other chances, other approaches. As Florence had said, their relationship could weather a stumble or two. She just hadn't expected a stumble to hurt so much. It told her she'd invested more of her feelings in this one moment than she should have.
"I want to see you," he said firmly. "Open the door."
"I said I'm okay. It's all right. I--"
"Samantha Beth." His tone made the words stop in her throat. "It wasn't a request. Open the door, or I'll open it myself."
She'd left a terry-cloth robe on the bed, so she rose, slid into it and belted it tightly. Putting the clothes behind the door so they couldn't
be seen as an embarrassing reminder to either one of them, she unlocked the door, turned the knob and stepped back, crossing her arms over herself.
Geoff pushed the panel open, his eyes immediately going to her face. She adjusted her gaze to the space left of his shoulder. "See? I'm okay. No biggie."
He came to her. She had the bed behind her and couldn't retreat, though she shrank back. He stopped in front of her. "You're not afraid of me, Sam. Are you?"
She shook her head. "No, of course not. I'm . . . I don't know what I am."
"Look at me."
She shook her head again, her mouth set, and he sighed. Tugging one resisting hand from her body, he closed his own around it. "Sam, this is hard for me to admit, but I'm as worried about doing the wrong thing as you are. Maybe more, because . . . I want to be in charge." He paused, his voice getting rougher. "I fucking ache . . . to take control of you."
Her gaze snapped up to his face. When he was worked up about something, the green in his eyes became more pronounced, like emerald sparks. She saw them now. "I want to do everything you said, and way more. I have no idea how you'll react to all the things I want. And Chris . . ."
"Chris is the one who knows if we're on track," she said softly. "I was just thinking that. Thinking I screwed up by rushing this when he should be here."
Just like that, things were better, connected. She still felt fragile, but now it was the type of vulnerability that made her want to stay close to him, not pull away.
"No." Geoff shook his head, squeezing her hand. He repeated it more forcefully, touching her chin for emphasis. "Absolutely not. You pretty much melted my brain in that outfit. For all I know, those three files I reviewed might be arguments to throw out the judicial system and go back to trial by combat."
"I wouldn't mind seeing you in gladiator wear. Russell Crowe style." She gave him a tentative smile.
"Come here," he said abruptly, unfolding her arms.
He didn't draw her to him right away. He slipped the loop of her robe first and opened up the panels so when he brought her against him, her naked body was pressed against the fabric of his slacks and shirt, but she could feel the warm, firm male beneath. Dropping one hand to her ass, he hiked her up his body in a forceful move he underlined by cupping her jaw and planting his mouth on hers.